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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27404593">just to get back in your arms</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, post-Return, short and sweet, soft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:41:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>679</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27404593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows if he got his arms around Gerard, got to feel his warmth and the hidden strength he carries again, he’d never let go. </p><p>So for now, at the end of every rehearsal, every in-between jam session and creative session, he just watches. Watches, and doesn’t let himself think about it. Watches, and waits, even though he’s not sure what for.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Iero/Gerard Way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>just to get back in your arms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rehearsing without touching Gerard is the hardest part. </p><p>Frank’s not the young guy he used to be. Sure, he still wants to bounce around the stage like a maniac, kick over mic stands and hump a couple of amps and maybe break a drum set or two. But he can’t, his body giving up on him, the accident sending echoes of pain through his hollow-feeling bones every time he moves faster than the ghost of the crash wants him to. </p><p>But maybe it’s a good thing. Because he knows if he got his arms around Gerard, got to feel his warmth and the hidden strength he carries again, he’d never let go. </p><p>So for now, at the end of every rehearsal, every in-between jam session and creative session, he just watches. Watches, and doesn’t let himself think about it. Watches, and waits, even though he’s not sure what for. </p><p>Until one day, Gerard approaches him. </p><p>They’ve spoken since the reunion, sure. It would be tough to be in the same band and never speak, and Frank never could have managed that. Not with Gerard. Never with Gerard. But it’s a little stilted, a little awkward, not what it used to be. </p><p>(You want more than what it used to be, his brain whispers, but he ignores it. Pushes it to the very back like he used to, all through Bullets and Revenge and The Black Parade and Danger Days and Conventional Weapons). </p><p>“Hey,” Gerard says, simple as that. Like the word doesn’t carry the weight of a thousand, doesn’t land on Frank’s skin and burn like a shower of embers. </p><p>“Hi,” Frank says, quiet and controlled, gaze at his feet, knows if he looks up, it’ll all be over. </p><p>But he can’t keep it in. “Fuck it,” he says, and he sounds congested, eyes starting to fill with tears, body betraying him. </p><p>He turns to Gerard and wraps his arms around him. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispers, when Gerard hesitates, hands hovering above Frank’s back like he isn’t sure what to do. “I just— I just need. For a minute—“</p><p>“It’s okay,” Gerard hums, and Frank can feel his voice deep in his chest, lets himself press his face into Gerard, his warmth and his comfort and his love. </p><p>Gerard finally hugs back, wrapping his arms tightly around Frank, resting his chin on top of Frank’s head like he’s a child. It feels safe. It feels like home. </p><p>Frank startles a little when Gerard starts to rub his thumb across his back, but settles into it when he realizes Gerard isn’t pulling away. Is letting him rest his head on his chest, cry into his shirt. </p><p>“I missed you,” Frank admits, and it’s so much easier to say it when he can’t see Gerard’s face, so open and earnest, can only feel the beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his breathing. </p><p>“I missed you too, Frankie,” Gerard murmurs. He says it like a confession, like he’s been holding it in, never letting it see the light of day or even the dark of night. “Never letting you go again, you know that?”</p><p>“God, Gerard,” Frank says, and it comes out watery, rough and tear-filled. </p><p>“It’s okay,” Gerard hums. “It’s okay, I know.”</p><p>Frank finally pulls back, lets himself look, lets himself truly see Gerard for the first time since they’d gotten the band back together. </p><p>The tears are coming. He can feel them behind his eyes, weighing heavy. </p><p>“Oh, Frankie,” Gerard says brokenly, and pulls him back in. He rocks Frank from side to side, one hand on the back of his neck, lets Frank tuck his face into his shoulder. </p><p>He kisses Frank gently on the top of his head. “I’m here,” he assures him, and it sounds like a promise, carries enough weight to crush Frank. “I’m here to stay.” </p><p>Frank can’t do anything but nod into Gerard’s shoulder, listen to the air in his lungs and the beat of his heart and the rumble of the voice in his chest. </p><p>He’s home.</p>
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